Returning to poetry after a fifty year break. I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease in 2019 and found therapeutic benefit in poetry and art. I run a monthly open mic night for Parkinsons Art on Zoom for poets with Parkinson’s
An Ending Why did the nightmares begin? The ones where the acid’s dissolving my skin. Where razor sharp needles rain down from the skies and spiders and weevils crawl out of my eyes, the cats and the rats are devouring my feet and the flames burn my back as I run from the heat and I leap from the bed with its snake covered sheet. Oh why did the nightmares begin? So, what has become of the night? The time between working and waking’s not right. What should be a rest time just leaves me distressed, I’m exhausted and frightened, anxiety heightened. This whole situation increases the stress, so I lose concentration my mind is a mess and in sheer desperation I sleep even less Oh what has become of the night? Is something attacking my brain? Is it something I’ve done? Am I going insane? I’m frightened of sleeping but too tired to think. My wife says it’s down to the drugs and the drink that I used in my youth when I should have been learning. Now I’m banned from our bed for my tossing and turning and she’s booked me a date with the doctor concerning the thing that’s attacking my brain. When will this misery end? As doom and depression begin to descend. A sleeping disorder that’s blurring the border between day and nighttime and nothing feels right I’ve been told by the nurse that it’s going to get worse. What is wrong with my brain is disease not a curse and I’m starting to think this should be my last verse… Martin Pickard Published in Ariel Chart Literary Journal
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